


Castles and Kings

by telm_393



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Suicide, Past Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telm_393/pseuds/telm_393
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a single dad. Charles is his agoraphobic neighbor. They fall in love.</p><p>or</p><p>Snapshots of the first year of Erik and Charles' relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not entirely happy about how this turned out. It seems to have gone a little too fast for me near the end, but it was really, really hard to write, and I'm glad I'm done, and in the end, I don't think the finished product is terrible.
> 
> This was written for bigbang_mixup, and it also has some beautiful art.
> 
> Just as a note, I did a lot of research on agoraphobia for this fic, and I really hope I portrayed it sensitively. If you think I did anything wrong, please do tell me.
> 
> Anyway, on with the story

Erik doesn't even remember his uncle, nothing past a warm blur of dark hair and eyes and the distant sound of laughter.  
  
His uncle is dead, and he shouldn't feel any pain at all for this man, no more than a memory, but he does.  
  
He goes to the reading of the will, not really expecting much of anything, but he gets something.  
  
He definitely gets something.  
  
+  
  
The first thing Erik notices about the house is that it's fucking _huge_.   
  
That's the first thing the children notice too, of course, because they're just kids and they've lived in an old apartment for their entire short lives.  
  
Wanda shrieks with joy. "Daddy, daddy, look how _big_ it is!"  
  
Pietro just stares with wide eyes as Wanda clutches at his shirt.  
  
Erik winces, because the sound of a six year old girl shrieking in his ear is not one that he enjoys, though he has to say that after five years of single parenthood, it's one he's gotten used to.  
  
"Yes, Wanda, it is quite big." They're half the reason he decided to move at all, really, the kids, mostly because an ugly apartment in the city isn't really much of a place for two kids to grow up. There are fantastic schools around these parts, and he'd hoped for a big backyard.  
  
He'd got one, because the backyard is enormous.  
  
They step outside the car, and all just look up at the house for one moment.  
  
"Wooow," Wanda says happily, and Erik almost echoes her before remembering himself and the fact that he is a grown-assed adult.  
  
Pietro tugs at the sleeve of his shirt. "Mhm?" he mumbles absentmindedly, wondering why the hell he didn't check the house out before he decided to move in, just to spare himself the near heart attack he's having now.  
  
"Look, there's a house right next door."  
  
Erik looks over to the side, and there it is, a similar house, even though it's actually even bigger, a large mansion as opposed to just a small one. It's actually very close to his house, he thinks, and wonders why the people who built this place would build the two houses so close together, just a fence and a few yards away from each other.  
  
The house looks well-tended and all, but he can't see a car in the driveway, and no signs of life outside. He wonders if the place is abandoned.  
  
"Yes, I guess there is." Erik ruffles Pietro's white-blond hair. "We should start moving in, I guess. Looks like things are gonna change for us, kids."  
  
(And they are. Erik inherited a mansion, not to mention a sinful amount of money. He's rich now, he thinks with a certain awe, considering that he's a metal worker and sculptor and writer, none of which are occupations that pay very well, at least not for him. He can focus on his real passions now, he decides with a certain sense of relief, and the children are set for college. Really, this couldn't have come at a better time.)  
  
+  
  
The first problem with the mansion becomes apparent about five seconds after they enter it, namely that there no way Erik is going to be able to keep track of his ridiculously hyperactive kids in a place as big as this.  
  
The twins are gone the minute they step in the door, and Erik can hear their loud shouts reverberating throughout the house, which has a nice, lived in feel to it, even though Erik wonders how the hell his uncle survived living alone in the years after his wife died in this huge place.  
  
"Daddy, which one's my room?" Wanda shrieks from upstairs.  
  
"Whatever!" he yells back absentmindedly.  
  
The place is filled with rooms, and he quickly catalogs what they're going to do. The office, the guest rooms, the children's rooms, side by side, the media room (because they can afford a media room now), the dining room, the kitchen. After quickly cataloguing, he wanders around, looking for which room is going to be his. He already feels that there are going to be at least three guest rooms from what’s left over.  
  
Then they start moving in.  
  
The stuff that cluttered their apartment seems a lot less clutter-y once it's been moved into the new house.  
  
Erik sighs and feels a tiny bit lonely for just a second, before he hears a crash from upstairs and is suddenly relieved for some stupid reason, because he remembers he's not alone at all.  
  
+  
  
Erik doesn’t know what to do anymore.  
  
He’s set for life. Wanda and Pietro are set for life.  
  
He doesn’t have a job.   
  
He doesn’t need a job, though. He can just sculpt his metal like he’s always wanted to. Maybe sell some of his pieces.   
  
But now that Erik’s life is getting somewhere on track, he realizes that at the same time it very much isn’t. He hasn’t been on track for years.  
  
He is going in endless, endless circles, and it’s making him sick.   
  
+  
  
As they settle into the new house, and the children start going to school, leaving Erik alone (again), the big mystery becomes this: who exactly is living next door?  
  
At first Erik is sure there is nobody, but then a pretty blonde girl comes along, knocking on the door, and he's sure that she must be living there, until he realizes that she comes and goes. There are other people who go there, too, a couple of young men who sometimes bring groceries. A gardener stops by on occasion.  
  
"Maybe it's a witch," Wanda says seriously as they eat dinner in front of the TV.  
  
"Or a warlock," Pietro pipes up.  
  
Erik rolls his eyes. "Sure."  
  
The next day, Wanda says, "It's got to be a witch. Nobody's ever seen the person who lives there in town or anything, and everyone knows everyone!"  
  
Pietro says, "That's the Xavier house, though."  
  
Erik's interest is finally piqued. "Who are the Xavier's?"  
  
Pietro shrugs. "Beats me. An old family, I guess." Then he goes on to talk about how he beat all the other kids at school in a race in Physical Education class. Erik pretends to be impressed. It takes more out of him than it should.  
  
At night he lies in bed, very alone, and tries to console himself while his arm twitches to wrap around a woman who isn’t lying next to him. He really is trying his best.   
  
Then again, his best has always fallen just a little bit short.  
  
+  
  
Eventually, Erik's curiosity gets the best of him. He knew it would.  
  
(Well, it’s his curiosity and his loneliness, he supposes. He tries to ignore that part because if there’s one thing he will most certainly not do, it’s admit to being lonely. Loneliness, as far as he can tell, is one of the most utterly pathetic emotions in history, and it has no place in what is left of his heart.)  
  
He goes and knocks on the door of the mansion next to his own…home. The person who opens it is not who he expects at all. He isn’t entirely certain what he expects, but he knows it isn’t the person who shows up.   
  
It’s a young man with bright blue eyes and ridiculous red lips and skin as white as paper. He's wearing a brown cardigan and dark brown slacks. He looks at Erik, utterly bemused and just a little excited. "Can I help you?" he asks carefully, pushing his brown hair out of his eyes and twitching his lips up into a brief smile.  
"Oh..." Erik says stupidly before clearing his throat. "Yeah, um, I moved into the house next door..."  
  
The man suddenly really smiles, vibrantly, and it takes Erik's breath away. "Oh! You must be my elusive new neighbor. Come in." He gestures towards the house.  
Erik walks in carefully, looking at the scuffed but shining floor, the emptiness in the huge mansion, and realizes that the man must live alone. He shudders at the thought. Erik’s never been very good at being alone.  
  
The man takes him in to some kind of office or mini library or parlor or whatever, and gestures at him to sit on an overstuffed couch, and then sits just across from him on an armchair. "Well, it's lovely to meet you. I'm Charles Xavier."  
  
"Erik Lensherr." He reaches out his hand, but Charles doesn't take it.  
  
"So, where are you from?" Charles asks, and he looks genuinely interested.  
  
"Just the city. I inherited the house and some money from my uncle, and figured I'd come over here for, you know, the kids."  
  
"Oh, you have children!" Charles says excitedly. "I adore children; you must bring them around sometime."  
  
Erik nods, even though he doesn't know if he will yet. Emma used to say he was too paranoid. Of course, he hasn’t spoken to her in years.  
  
"Yeah. Single dad."  
  
"I myself don't have children, but I imagine it must be wonderful." He looks practically wistful, and now that Erik thinks about it, having kids really is nice, even if an unpleasant side effect is being tired all the fucking time, so he nods.  
  
Charles changes the subject effortlessly. "So, I figure you saw all the people coming in and out of here. I've heard that without them, this place can seem quite deserted."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I wish I could get out more, but I...just don't have the time. I'm a private tutor."  
  
"I'm a metal sculptor."  
  
"Oh, that sounds fascinating!"  
  
"It...yes, I guess it is." Erik is a tiny bit taken aback by Charles' enthusiasm, but decides he likes him anyway.  
  
"Well. Where did my manners go? Would you like some tea? Coffee?"  
  
Erik shakes his head no. "I'm sorry, I can't right now. I have to go pick up the kids from school."  
  
Charles looks very disappointed, and for some reason Erik actually feels bad. "But I can come over another time. Tomorrow, maybe. I can, um, bring over the kids too."  
  
Charles' face suddenly breaks into another huge smile. "Absolutely!" he says excitedly. "If you could come over at around five, it would be lovely, I have a student before that."  
  
Five works, actually, so Erik communicates that and then takes his leave.  
  
+  
The next day, Erik announces to the children that they’re going to finally meet the person next door.  
  
Wanda shrieks in delight. “No way! We get to meet the witch!”  
  
“Not a witch, Wanda. A human being, with human being feelings, who would probably not take so kindly to being called a witch.”  
  
“Still a witch,” she mumbles under her breath, and Erik rolls his eyes while Pietro laughs.  
  
+  
The next day, at five, Erik walks over to Charles’ house, Wanda and Pietro running in front of him, brimming with enthusiasm. Erik wishes he had an easier time making friends. His children obviously enjoy meeting new people.  
  
A surprising amount, considering who their parents were. Of course, Magda was always a bit more sociable than Erik. Maybe that’s where they got it from.  
Erik thinks he may like Charles, though, even if he doesn’t really know him yet, so it’s best to be a little suspicious for a while. But past that, it’s probably time to make a real friend anyway, now that he’s moved away to, well, try his hand at a new life. His life has always kind of been shit. It’s time to turn it around, he figures.   
He knocks on the door.   
  
Charles opens it and smiles that smile again, and Erik thinks that, yes, he really may actually grow to like this guy with the easy, brilliant smile and those ridiculous red lips, and it’s been so long since he’s honestly liked someone who wasn’t his blood, he finds himself surprised.   
  
He tries his best to smile back, though.   
  
He’s out of practice.  
  
Charles herds them all in, chatting amiably all the way. “Hello, how are you? What’s your name, darling?” he says kindly to Wanda, and grins when she tells him. “That’s lovely. And you?” He turns to Pietro, who tells him shyly. “Wonderful, that’s a wonderful name. I’m Charles, it’s terribly boring compared to your names, I’m afraid.”  
  
Wanda giggles and Pietro grins in that way that means he’s over being shy and about to start talking a thousand miles a minute (God help Charles).  
  
Charles is no less charming with children than with adults, Erik notes.  
  
“Would you like something to eat?” he asks after a few short minutes of the children talking and talking and him listening as if he actually cares. Erik wonders if he does actually care, and thinks he does. He finds it admirable, actually, considering that he himself generally doesn’t care or pay attention to at least half of what Wanda and Pietro say. Sometimes Wanda and Pietro’s voices are like useless white noise in the background of Erik’s mind, and he’s rather sure that that makes him an awful father, but he tries not to think about that.  
  
Wanda and Pietro both nod excitedly about the question, and Erik nods politely. “Thank you,” he says evenly, relieved that his children are going to be fed now that he remembers that, shit, there’s almost no food in their house, and he really has to get on that.  
  
“I just got groceries,” Charles throws over his shoulder as he walks over to what must be the kitchen, an already besotted Wanda and Pietro trailing behind him. “So I have a lot of snacks, and I can make some dinner if you’d like.”  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Do the children like pasta?”  
  
“Yes.” Erik walks into the giant dining room, trying not to look uncomfortable and failing. In the end he just doesn’t try, and Charles stays oblivious, too busy entertaining the children.   
  
He certainly does have a way with them, a way that Erik has never had. He never wished he could be one of those people who charmed children just by smiling at them until he had his own, and then that was all he wished, but Wanda and Pietro love him, and at least that’s something.   
  
Wanda and Pietro are distracted briefly by the shininess and hugeness of the house, and Charles says that they can run around as long as they don’t open any closed doors—most of those are locked, evidently, but it’s an old house and some of the locks don’t work so well—and stay safe. Erik also gives them permission because he knows they’d do it anyway if he didn’t, and what’s the harm? They’ll be distracted for a long time, which will give him more time to talk to Charles, to work on why he is, for some reason, drawn to him.  
  
Erik doesn’t believe in stupid things like love at first sight, or even liking someone on first sight, but there’s something intriguing about Charles, most definitely.  
  
+  
  
Erik starts bringing the children to Charles’ place regularly. Thus far he hasn’t caught any one of Charles’ students, considering the fact that he’s actively avoiding them, but he sees them coming and going all the time.  
  
And even then, he never really sees Charles actually leave his house. He’s always excusing it, too. Oh, I just don’t have the time to go out anymore. That one’s his favorite.  
  
Erik has to say he’s getting slightly suspicious, but he doesn’t really mind, in the end.   
  
Charles will tell him eventually.  
  
In any case, Erik and Charles start playing chess. When Erik lived with Emma, they used to play chess all the time. It was the only time they could really stand each other. After a while, even that lost its appeal, as they began to hate each other more and more. He and Emma were a mess, really.   
  
After Emma came Magda, and Magda loathed chess, couldn’t even stand looking at a board for more than five seconds. She could never get a hang of the rules, was the problem, and the thing about Magda was that it always frustrated her terribly when she couldn’t figure something out. Erik tried to teach her a few times, but after that she simply gave up. After Magda killed herself, Erik would often think about that and then follow up with some very unkind thoughts about giving up, but he’s—no, he wouldn’t say he’s let it go, but he’s made some sort of uneasy peace with it, and he shouldn’t think ill of the dead, in any case. Magda simply couldn’t handle life anymore, it wasn’t anybody’s fault, and Erik might as well let sleeping dogs lie.  
  
But chess was always Erik’s favorite game, and once he meets Charles he finds somebody who shares his same…not quite passion, because Erik isn’t passionate about anything, anymore, really, but at least fondness for the game.   
  
While they play chess, he and Charles speak. He and Emma never spoke while they played, not after the first year, which made things awkward and angry, but he and Charles talk about everything, philosophy, history, science, even, though Erik is more content to let that be a more one-sided conversation than anything. Charles adores his work, and Erik finds himself smiling fondly as he talks and talks about genetics, something Erik thinks he’ll never understand at Charles’ level.  
It’s been a long time since Erik’s legitimately liked somebody other than his children, and even longer since he’s felt any sort of physical attraction to another human being, but Charles’ blue eyes and very red lips are always enticing. Erik prefers not to think about things like that, though. He’s a practical man, and he knows somebody’s heart is going to break if he gets into any sort of sexual or romantic relationship ever again.   
  
He supposes he could call it a fear of commitment. He supposes, at least, that that’s what a psychologist would call it.  
  
Then again, he’s never put much stock into psychologists.   
  
+  
  
Erik isn’t stupid. After about three months, he’s aware that there is something wrong with Charles. It seems terribly final to ask about it, so he doesn’t, but he has his suspicions.   
  
There must be a reason Charles doesn’t go out. Health problems. Other problems. Problems like the kind that Magda had.  
   
But Magda killed herself, and Erik knows that not all mental problems are the same, that the idea of Charles not being right in the head doesn’t have to leave such a sick taste in his mouth.   
  
Still, he doesn’t ask, and Charles doesn’t say.  
  
One of them is eventually going to have to say something. They both know it, every single time Charles begs off of some sort of event the children say he should go to.   
  
Erik doesn’t invite him to anything.  
  
Neither of them do end up actually bringing up the elephant in the room, though, because after a while, Erik meets Raven.   
  
Raven, Charles’ sister, who is rather overprotective for a younger sibling, but, well. Erik would be overprotective too.   
  
Some people are just wired that way. Erik is one of them. Raven is one of them. He can respect that.  
  
Raven walks into the mansion one day, just waltzes in there, not seeming to care about boundaries, that Charles may have a visitor, and Erik guesses (correctly) that she knows when Charles is working and comes at times around that, and doesn’t account for Charles having company.   
  
He guesses that that’s why she almost trips over Wanda when she comes in, and then simply stares, shocked, as Erik, Pietro, and Charles come in from the kitchen.  
“Raven!” Charles cries, delighted. “Oh, I didn’t know you were coming over. You really should call, I keep telling you that.”  
  
“You, uh, you don’t usually have company.”  
  
Raven has an American accent and is really quite beautiful, something that Wanda rather fearlessly point out within minutes of laying eyes on her. “You’re pretty.”  
Raven smiles easily, seemingly not embarrassed at all. Erik wonders if all of the Xavier family has this much…poise. “Well, thanks. What’s your name?”  
  
“I’m Wanda.” That’s when she takes it upon herself to name everybody else. “That’s Pietro, and that’s my dad. His name’s Erik.”  
  
“Wow. Charles, you didn’t tell me you’d made friends.”  
  
“Well, I suppose I’d been waiting a while before letting you terrorize poor Erik.”  
  
“I think you’re underestimating what it takes to terrorize me, Charles,” Erik says wryly.   
  
“And I think you’re overestimating. Raven really can be quite fearsome,” Charles says, almost with a straight face before he cracks a smile. “Well, I’m preparing some food. I always make extra, so you can come join us, Raven.”  
  
“I think I’ll do that.”  
  
Raven really isn’t especially intimidating, but she does seem a bit on edge about Erik. She also seems rather glad that her brother’s made a new friend, though, so there are clearly conflicting feelings at play.  
  
She does pepper dinner with questions, which makes it rather awkward, and afterwards she corners Charles and whispers to him feverishly. All Erik manages to make out is, “Do you want me to tell him?” and Charles’ answer of, “Come on, Raven, I don’t need you to do my dirty work,” and finally Raven’s answer of, “If you don’t tell him, I will.”  
  
“I’m tired,” Charles finally sighs out in a normal tone of voice. “Do what you want. Tell him the story, the sordid details. See if he ever comes back.” That’s when he goes upstairs. Wanda and Pietro follow him loyally, and he smiles at them.   
  
“So, what was that about?” Erik asks, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.  
  
Raven looks exhausted as she slumps into a couch in the living room, the place where he and Charles usually sit and play chess. Erik sits across from her. “A lot of stuff, Erik. Do you…do you care about Charles? Like, at all?”  
  
“I think I care about him quite a bit.”  
  
“You know he doesn’t leave the house, right?”  
  
“Right. I’ve noticed that.”  
  
“You know he hasn’t in years?”  
  
“No. I had no idea.”  
  
“That’s just like him—just ignore important stuff like that. Well, congratulations. That means Charles is afraid to lose you. How long have you known each other?”  
  
“Around three months.”  
  
“Damn. Most of the time people would’ve asked him about the whole agoraphobia thing by then.”  
  
“I’m patient,” Erik says numbly.  
  
“Figured you would be.”  
  
“Wait,” Erik cuts in. “So…there’s something really wrong with him? Agoraphobia? He won’t go outside?”  
  
“It’s more like he can’t go outside, but yeah, basically. He’s afraid to leave the house. It’s…it’s complicated, but if you want to oversimplify, yeah. That’s...that’s what it is.”  
  
Erik lets out a disappointed exhale. He doesn’t quite know what to think. Magda is the first thing that comes to mind, and then his common sense. Not every mentally ill person is going to be like her. Stop being an idiot about it.  
  
But it’s not like he can control the memories, the fear.  
  
(It’s a Monday, the day that everything changes.  
  
Erik’s brought the children home from school, because lately Magda’s been…ill.  
  
He’s worried for her.  
  
He may not love her the way he should as her husband, but in the end, even through all the complicated feelings, he truly does love her, and, after all, she’s the mother of his children.  
  
That’s why his blood runs cold when he hears Pietro calling from upstairs, in his reedy five year old voice, “Daddy, why’s the water pink?”  
  
It doesn’t make any sense, and Erik practically sprints up the steps, where he finds Wanda and Pietro looking curiously at a very small puddle of pink water that is running out the bathroom. He can hear the water still pounding down out of the bath faucet.   
  
He opens the door, saying, “Don’t look, kids, don’t look, just leave,” and sucks in a deep breath, praying in all the languages he knows when he sees the sight in front of him.   
  
Her hair is matted—  
  
He eyes are empty—  
  
Her wrists—  
  
The blood—  
  
There’s blood—  
  
Oh God oh God oh God please, please, please—  
  
He’s forgotten—  
  
He’s forgotten how to pray—  
  
He slams the bathroom door shut.  
  
“Daddy?” Pietro’s voice is frightened. “Why’s mommy sleeping in the bath tub?”  
  
Erik lets out a sob without even thinking, and tries to pass it off as clearing his throat when Wanda whimpers. “Nothing, nothing, she’s just…she’s…I’ll explain later. You need to go now, though. Into another room. Leave, just leave, please. This isn’t for you to see.” Erik can feel his heart flash cold like metal when the children don’t move. “Leave!” he roars, and finally, they do.)  
  
“You…don’t look thrilled,” Raven says wryly. “I thought you liked him.”  
  
“I do,” Erik says immediately, and is surprised by how clear and true his voice comes out. He doesn’t quite know what to say that won’t make him sound like an asshole. _I can’t do be around another messed up person_ , he wants to say. _I’ll just fuck Charles up more, wait and see. I’m already screwed up enough, I’ve already been through this whole crazy game, and I lost. I had a wife whose mind turned on her, and I couldn’t save her. And then the idea comes from the rational part of his mind: Maybe Charles doesn’t need saving. Every case is different. That’s what the psychologist said. Magda had a psychotic depression. Charles is agoraphobic. It’s different. But what about the children? Should I really let them…be around this again?_  
  
He needs to know more.  
  
“Can you…can you tell me about him?”  
  
“Can you promise me you won’t hurt my brother?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Can you promise me you’ll try not to hurt my brother?”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“Fine.”


	2. Interlude: Raven

Raven takes care of Charles because he took care of her first.

She remembers being a little girl, crying alone at night in the front yard of a huge house, confused and scared.

+

She’s bleeding just a little, because she fell and scraped her knee. She’s miserable and hates this, and she doesn’t know how long she’s been gone, she just knows she’s been running a long time. It feels like she’s been running her entire life, all ten years of it.

She leans against a tree, kneeling in the cold, wet grass, her dirty hair draping over her face. It doesn’t even look blonde anymore, and it makes her want to throw up when she sees it, when she feels it, heavy and greasy on her head.

She covers her face with her hands and sobs. The sounds of her crying and harsh breathing explode in the still night. It’s so dark, she doesn’t know where she is, she just got on the bus and started going and going and now she’s somewhere strange and she didn’t think this far.

And she’s _hungry,_ so damn hungry, and tired, she just wants to fall over.

She didn’t know it would be this hard.

After a few minutes she lifts up her head and looks at the big house she’s in front of.

The windows are all dark. Everyone must be asleep. She could just go inside and steal some food and it would be so easy. She’s good at stealing.

She stands up, stumbling a bit because she’s so exhausted, but now she’s got something to do and she’s not just tired, she’s determined.

She walks up to the big door and manages to pick the lock with the paper clip she’s got in her jean pocket. (Her daddy taught her how to do that, but he’s not around anymore. Last time she saw him it was after she’d opened the closet door he’d shoved her into, after he told her, “Be quiet, sweetie, this’ll only take daddy a second”, and he hadn’t had a face anymore.) She opens the door and closes it behind her carefully.

The house is so _big._ It’s not even a house, really, it’s like a _mansion._ She lived in an apartment, when she used to live somewhere, and it had cockroaches.

She finally stumbles upon the kitchen, and the first thing she sees is the refrigerator. Her stomach hurts a lot, but she guesses it must be that she hasn’t eaten in a long, long time. Not since the last bus station, when she ate a half-eaten hot dog from the trash, and that was…She can’t remember. She’s so _tired_.

She opens the refrigerator and roots through it. There isn’t that much food in it, but there’s more than she’s seen in one place in a while, and there’s also lots of beer like her daddy used to drink before he had to die.

Her stomach turns, but there’s nothing to throw up but bile, and she manages to hold that down.

And then, “Who are you?”

Busted.

She turns slowly and sees a boy. She can feel tears brimming in her eyes, and now she’s scared, and he’s just looking at her. She looks at him back.

He’s holding a baseball bat and wearing blue and white pajamas. He must be a little older than her, by a couple of years at least. He has pretty hair, chestnut brown like her mother in the picture Raven had when she was little. His eyes are very blue.

Her stringy hair is sticking to her face and she knows her clothes are all muddy and dirty and ripped up, and she knows she’s screwed.

“Really, who are you?”

He’s got a pretty accent. It sounds English. He’s looking at her in kind of a sad way now, and he’s put down the bat, but he still looks a teeny bit scared. That kind of makes her feel better, because she feels scared too.

Finally, though, she doesn’t tell him, she doesn’t say anything because she’s suddenly been hit with the realization that she’s going to go to jail and she’s going to _die_ probably really soon, and she starts crying again.

The boy stands there for a few moments before he starts to make his way to her. “Shhh,” he says as he steps up closer. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come with me.”

He takes her grimy hand, and she hasn’t touched anyone in such a long time that when she feels him she holds on for dear life.

He brings her to his room, which is really big, and puts her in his bed, which is also big and really soft. She’s never really slept in a bed ever, and she’s sleeping in just a few moments.

She wakes up the next morning not knowing where she is, but she recognizes the boy before she has the chance to panic.

“Hello,” the boy says quietly. “I’m Charles Xavier. Will you tell me who you are now?”

“Raven,” she says softly, her voice raspy. “Raven Darkholme.”

“Raven’s a pretty name. Would you like something to eat?”

She nods even though she’s the kind of hungry that really isn’t even hungry anymore.

Charles brings her up cold cereal and holds her hair back while she pukes it all up. He says some stuff about malnutrition and doctors that she doesn’t understand, and then he draws her a hot bath.

When she peels off her clothes it feels like she’s taking off a second skin. She looks at her blue shirt and her faded jeans crumpled on the ground, ripped and dirty and awful.

When she gets out of the bath (which takes a while because she hasn’t had a bath in _such a long time_ ) the water is dark gray, and she puts her clothes back on and drains it out.

She looks into the mirror, and looks different, like she used to. She finally feels clean again, except for the clothes.

Charles gives her some new ones, though, and they’re boys clothes and too large, but they’re still comfy and spotless.

She talks to Charles and he’s nice and smart, and she likes him a lot, and that’s how it all starts really, the end of _her_ story and the beginning of _their_ story.

Time goes on and on, and eventually Charles is her brother and she’s a ward of the Xavier’s. Charles gets his way easily because he’s charismatic and his family doesn’t care enough and, really, he’s just as desperately lonely as Raven. In the end, he practically raises her.

He helps her with her schoolwork, dabs antiseptic on the cuts and scraped knees and elbows she ends up collecting when she gets her energy back and starts running around like kids do. He holds her while she cries.

He’s an amazing brother.

They’re each other’s world, really.

That’s why it’s so scary when Charles starts going crazy.

Raven kind of feels bad putting it like that, but it’s what happens. When she’s older she realizes that ever since she met Charles, even if he’d seemed like some kind of magical paragon of strength, the perfect knight to fight off all her dragons, he’s never been all there, but it’s different when he starts, well, _going crazy._

He’s never liked being in crowds or being with lots of people at once, but when it’s just a few people he can charm all of them half to death in minutes. Sometimes, especially when he’s outside of the house in big places, Charles’ chest gets tight and he can’t breathe.

But for Raven, that’s normal. That’s how he’s always been. But then, as time goes on, Charles starts getting more and more nervous, and he gets more and more panic attacks, gets more reluctant to leave the house. Raven knows something is wrong, but Charles just smiles and says he’s busy studying, and she almost believes it because it’s easy to believe. At fifteen, Charles is starting college, earning some fancy Biology degree.

But then Charles starts shutting down, and all Raven can do is watch. He throws himself into his work, because it’s the only thing that makes him feel better, normal, _sane_ he says once, with a bitterness in his voice Raven’s never heard from him.

After his mother dies is when it gets really, really bad. Charles is eighteen by then, already having one PhD and starting on a new degree.

(Raven can’t forget the day she walks upstairs, because Charles has been in his mother’s room a really long time when it usually takes him five or six minutes to get in and out of there, and finds him kneeling next to her bed, his forehead against the mattress. Tears are streaming down his cheeks when he finally looks at her. “Oh, God, Raven. I can’t…do this. I can’t do this.”)

He stops letting her out of his sight, and when she firmly says that she has to go out to buy groceries or something, it always takes about twenty minutes to manage to leave the house, with Charles’ fussing. He starts having screaming nightmares. He takes an extended leave of absence from college, and eventually only goes back through the internet.

Almost any time they go outside, now, is an absolute disaster that ends with epic panic attacks and rambling about _safety_ and _escape_ and _oh God, Raven, all the people, I can’t anymore, I just can’t_.

Charles gets sad, too, and weirdly philosophical, wondering about life and if it’s worth it, and then Raven tells her _she’s_ worth it, and he touches her cheek and smiles a fond smile that sometimes just barely reaches his hollow eyes and reminds her of the twelve year old she met once upon a time and says, _Of course, how could I forget?_

One day she finds him next to a few bottles of alcohol, holding a bunch of pills in his hand and saying _Maybe I should_ , and she knocks the pills out of his hand and forces a toothbrush down his throat just in case. She hides everything that could possibly be used to kill anyone and buys all plastic eating utensils, and at night she prays to a God she doesn’t think exists, because she’s just a kid, and she thinks her big brother might be _sick._

Eventually, Charles stops going out altogether. Raven stops trying to coax him after the millionth time she takes him out into the town and he has a panic attack, wheezing and gasping, and the first time it happens before they even leave the house.

She feels bad for giving up, but it’s killing her to watch him this way, and she guesses that if he can stabilize without leaving the insides of the mansion, she’ll deal with that. She hates watching him fight a battle with his own mind.

Eventually he does stabilize, safely confined in the house, and he recovers from what Raven’s pretty sure was a nervous breakdown into somebody like who he really is. He starts taking his classes online and with tutors. He reads and reads and never shuts up about genetics. He helps Raven with school. He starts smiling and laughing again, and Raven’s glad.

She gets the groceries, and calls the doctor, and does anything that means contact with the dreaded outside world. She knows by now, now that she’s seventeen, that the roles have shifted. She takes care of him now. Neither of them are really grown-ups, and she doesn’t know how well she’s doing or if she’s just fucking him up more, but he needs her so much, and she needs him. Eventually, taking care of Charles gets to be as easy as breathing.

When she goes off to cosmetology school in the city, she feels awful for leaving him. She visits him every other day, whether she can afford to or not. She brings him food and sees how he’s been. He’s nervous for her, of course.

(He still refuses to see a psychologist or a psychiatrist, even though he periodically has breakdowns that leave Raven shaken. “I’m always fine in the end, Raven, I’m happy this way, really,” he always reassures her, kissing her forehead, and Raven always pretends he isn’t lying.)

After a while, more people get added to their family—Alex and Sean and Darwin—and some of the load is off of her shoulders.

But goddamn it, Charles is probably the only reason she survived past childhood. He was the only reason she had to even _try_ to live past ten. He gave her somebody to confide in, something to live for, and she gave him the same thing.

He took care of her, so now she takes care of him.

In the end, it comes pretty naturally.


	3. Part II

Erik doesn’t quite know what to think, once Raven starts talking, but there’s some uneasy feeling that was rolling in his stomach that’s been put to rest for now.

He’s still not sure what he’s going to do, considering the fact that Charles isn’t well. Erik doesn’t have a good track record with things like this, with helping people, with dealing with people. He himself has never been well, not after his admittedly supremely fucked up childhood.

But there’s something about Charles that honestly makes him want to _try._ He knows that this is different from Magda’s situation, knows that maybe it’s in his best interest not to think about what happened to Magda at all. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Hell, what does he know, really?

Maybe he should just go on the way he was in the beginning. The way he’s always been.

Erik is rather sure he’s not a good person, though he fears that Charles thinks he is.

Charles is a good person, definitely. And he can’t just tear him away from the kids—the kids clearly adore Charles, and Charles clearly adores the kids.

“Y’know,” Raven says. “Maybe you should just…be with Charles the way you’ve always been with him. It’s been three months. Three pretty normal months. I know Charles has issues, but I can kind of tell you have issues too, so maybe you guys can help each other. It’s…these kinds of things are always hard to deal with, and sometimes the only way to deal with them are only if they come up. It’s…really, it’s probably in everyone’s best interest to get Charles professional help, but he just won’t go for it. I don’t know why. He’s, uh, he’s had bad experiences in the past.”

Erik nods quietly. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. Ignoring it might be the best way…” He trails off, because the words don’t quite sound right.

Raven just shrugs sadly. “It’s worked for us all these years.”

+

Erik skips his visit to Charles’ house the next day, the day after the revelation which he honestly doesn’t think should have shocked him.

Wanda and Pietro want to go over, so he lets them. Tells them to be careful.

He trusts Charles, he does.

He just has to think.

He doesn’t.

Instead he drinks, and remembers the curve of Magda’s smile, the bitter taste of her tears when he would kiss them away, her constant talk of burning, maggots eating her from the inside out, her exhaustion at the end.

Who knows? Erik may just be a little depressed too. Fine, almost certainly. He’s never gone to a psychologist, of course. It’s not his kind of thing.

After a while, he stops wondering about Charles and thinks of the children. If he’s as fucked up as she is, and Magda was as fucked up as she was, who’s to say Wanda and Pietro aren’t going to turn out…unstable too?

And now with Charles in their lives…

Damn, he’s an A+ dad. Surrounds his kids with crazies and expects them to turn out okay.

They’re strong, he reminds himself.

Yeah, but how strong can he expect them to be before they snap?

Erik sighs. He takes another swig of the scotch in his hand. He shouldn’t drink, it makes him angry and maudlin and anxious and every bad emotion in the book, but there is a kind of numbness encroaching on him that he thinks might help him sleep tonight.

No nightmares.

Just darkness

+

He doesn't go visit Charles the day after the one in which he gets drunk, mostly because he has a hangover and would rather not unleash his bad mood on the world, especially not the admittedly growing part of the world that is Charles. He tries his absolute best to be kind to his children, but they have such _high voices_ and the guilt of having spent the day before getting drunk eats him up, and he almost snaps at them a million times just in the span of time that he takes to make breakfast.

He ends up feeling terribly relieved when Wanda and Pietro reveal that they have an invitation to go over to Charles’, because Raven’s going to be there and they’ve already taken a shine to her and would like to get to know her better.

He tells them to tell Charles and Raven that he’s sick, and hopes that Raven won’t be angry with him for half-avoiding Charles.

When he goes back to Charles’ mansion, it’s not with the kids in tow. They’re at school, and he thinks it would be better to talk one on one anyway.

Charles opens the door and smiles a smile that seems dimmer than usual. “Hello,” he says weakly.

“Hello,” Erik says back, and he sounds almost formal. He hates himself for it. He and Charles are past this.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Charles starts, but Erik cuts him off quickly.

“Can I come inside?”

Charles moves aside to let him, and Erik immediately goes over to the sitting room, his usual chair.

Charles sits across from him.

“Chess?”

Charles smiles. “Yes. And I really am sorry, I just…I should have told you once we started to get close, but I didn’t want to lose you. I know that sounds strange, but—“

“It doesn’t sound strange at all,” Erik says gruffly. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“That’s…that’s nice to know. It’s just, we haven’t known each other for long, and…”

“I understand. There are some things you don’t want to say right away. I knew that. I could respect it. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just…keep getting to know each other.”

“You’re very understanding.”

“I’ve…look, Charles, I know more about your past than you know about mine, after what Raven told me. So I have some things I have to say.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do.”

Erik tells Charles about the death of his parents, tells him about Shaw, his adoptive father, the man who took his childhood away. He tells Charles about killing Shaw in self-defense, fully expecting Charles to freak out about it (he would expect nothing less), but he just nods sadly. He does seem a little perturbed, but he takes Erik’s sad stories rather well. Of course, it’s probably because his own are nothing to brush aside.

Erik tells Charles about Emma, but only a little, and then Magda.

Charles just nods, and taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair in a pattern Erik hasn’t noticed until now.

Then, finally, after airing out all the dirty laundry, they play chess, and don’t talk at all.

Erik goes home and has nightmares that have him screaming and the children waking him up with tears on their faces.

He thinks there must be something special about Charles. He’s never outlined his past so clearly, so succinctly, so tearlessly, for anyone before.

There must be something going wrong with him, something malfunctioning.

This should not be happening. This falling in love. It’s not right.

Erik is a metal sculptor. He used to be a contractor. But, mostly, his real talent lies in failing.

And he knows that eventually he will fail Charles, but he can’t finish that thought because he knows these feelings will just get worse if he doesn’t ignore them. Erik’s rather good at ignoring things that distress him, too, he’s realized over time.

He’s multitalented.

+

Erik hasn’t been in love for a long time.

He was in love with his wife, probably, but it was a distant, broken kind of love that hurts too much to even remember now that she’s dead.

He looks at Charles as they play chess together. Contemplates him, even, despite the fact that he’s not that kind of person. Not the kind of person who contemplates, because that seems more fit for poets, and he’s not a poet at all.  

There’s something almost ghost-like about Charles. Erik guesses that if he _was_ a poet, the kind of person prone to figurative language, metaphors and similes, he would say that Charles is like a ghost haunting his own home, attached to the place in such a way that he can never leave it.

Erik can’t quite imagine what it must be like, locking yourself up in the same place for years, so he doesn’t. It’s not his business anyway, and he can spend time with Charles just fine in the huge Xavier mansion.

For a brief moment, as he moves one of his pawns forward on the chess board, his eyes drift to Charles’ lips and he wonders how it would feel to kiss them.

He wonders how it would be to make a life with Charles, and feels his mind practically recoil at the thought of settling down with another person, considering what happened last time.

He shouldn’t be stupid about these things, especially not so soon after they’ve met. He’s too damaged. _Charles is too damaged,_ his mind hisses, and he hates to think that, but he is. Erik knows that if they get together they’ll just destroy each other.

That’s what he’s been telling himself since the very beginning.

“Well, if you never _try_ , you’ll never find out,” Emma would say, cold and practical as usual, filing her nails, and he’d tell her to fuck off because they were always cruel to each other. But he hasn’t seen Emma in years.

“What’s on your mind, Erik?” Charles asks.

Erik shakes himself out of his thoughts and says, “Nothing important.”

Then, just to make sure it sinks in, he smiles, and Charles seems comforted by that, and after a few minutes he finally stops tapping the table in that god-forsaken pattern (tap twice, pause, tap three times, pause, tap once, pause, start again), so Erik guesses everything’s fine.

And it is.

+

Erik adjusts his shirt. Now that he’s come into money, he still doesn’t know how to dress high class, not like Emma always wanted him to. He never had that kind of money, though, and really, he always forgot those fights moments after they had them. They were barely legitimate fights, really, mostly just moments of bickering in which Erik would be offended that Emma was embarrassed to show him off to her high-class friends just because he didn’t wear suits and ties, and Emma would just shrug and stay cold as ice.

Fire and ice were never meant to mix, let alone mate. That was what Erik had said to Emma in their very last fight, which had culminated in his slamming the door and going to finally live with Magda, and she had laughed and laughed at him, said he shouldn’t quit his day job, because he most certainly didn’t have talent as a poet. He had sneered at her, spat onto her clean floor, felt some kind of perverse pleasure in ruining the just waxed surface. “You’re too perfect,” he’d said. “I know it’s all an act.”

“And I know that really, you’re a child. You’re just playing at being an adult.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Well, maybe you just don’t know yourself.”

They’d said cruel things to each other, the day that they broke up, which is why Erik was stunned when he got an e-mail from Emma Frost.

_I heard you moved near New York. There’s no need to ask how, just know that I have connections. I’d like to see you again. I think there are some things we should talk over, now that time has passed._

_\- E.F._

After the short note (and wasn’t that classic Emma? So concise), Emma had put the address of a rather elegant restaurant, as well as a date and time. A little presumptuous of her, to simply assume that he’d accept her invitation, no questions asked, but Erik knew he would.

He asked Charles what he should do, anyway.

Months had passed since Erik had learned about Charles’ agoraphobia, and it was a non-issue at this point, even though he had coached Charles through one very frightening panic attack. (They don’t talk about that day, though.)

In any case, he and Charles had been growing closer and closer, and it only made sense to talk over the invitation with the man who had become his best friend quicker than anybody else in his whole life.

“So, fill me in again,” Charles had said. “Who was this Emma?”

“My former girlfriend. We didn’t part on good terms. In fact, I left her for Magda.”

Charles had blinked slowly. “Well, I suppose it’s in your best interest to see her again. I think you know it’s the right thing to do.” Erik hadn’t ignored the slight tightness around Charles’ mouth, though, and the way he refused to make eye contact. He would even think Charles jealous, if he were that kind of man.

So Erik had done the right thing, and replied to Emma. ( _Okay. E.L._ Because he could be concise too.)

And that is how he ended up in this restaurant; underdressed and waiting for a woman he may or may not hate, sipping at ice water and nibbling at bread.

He almost doesn’t notice when Emma slips into the chair across from him, but he’s never been one to miss the obvious, so he nods to her as politely as he possibly can. “You look as beautiful as ever, Emma.”

And she does, dressed in her signature white, a dress today, lace and leaving enough to the imagination to be classy, unlike the way she dressed when she and Erik were in high school, in the home together, after he left Shaw.

Emma’s blonde hair is curled and pulled back, her legs are crossed, and she’s wearing that same blank, calculating expression that Erik remembers from their time spent together. There’s something softer about it, though, something he can’t quite pinpoint. He just knows that Emma used to be as hard as diamond, and there’s something telling him that she isn’t anymore, not quite.

They chat with each other for a while as they order, and it’s almost pleasant. Erik can’t help but feel wary, though. For obvious reasons.

He digs into his food, and, finally, Emma gets to the real reason for their visit. “I think we should talk about how things ended.”

“Why? What’s done is done.”

“Sure, but don’t tell me you haven’t thought at me at all these past few years.”

“Of course I have. To tell the truth, you were important to me.”

“You were important to me too. The one person I can’t quite forget. Or stop regretting.”

“What do you have to regret? If I remember right, I left you.”

“But don’t tell me it was all your fault.”

“I never said that.”

“We were completely and utterly in love with each other. I remember that pretty clearly. I think that that’s enough to regret the decisions we made that led to our falling out of love.”

“True. Time goes on, though. Plenty of time for new regrets. Don’t worry, though, Emma, dear. You’re still in the top three.”

Emma smiles sharply. “Still an asshole, I see.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, you’re still rather cold.”

“I think I might have missed you.”

“Same here.”

“How are the kids?”

“Well, they’re doing fairly well, considering what happened to their mother.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

“Save it.”

“I won’t. Because I really am.”

“That’s incredible. I remember a time when that would have given you some kind of satisfaction.”

“Yes, well. People change.”

“I can see that. And here I was, thinking people always changed for the worse.”

“Well, you’re a cynic.”

“And you’re not?”

“No, I was just stating a fact. I’m still as much of a cynic as I ever was.” Emma pauses thoughtfully. “Maybe a little less.”

“Time has treated you well.”

“As far as I can tell, time has treated you quite well too. What with the new house.”

“Where do you get this information?”

“I told you not to ask.”

“Of course. Anyone new in your life?”

Erik hesitates. “No.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Not quite. I haven’t told him how I feel. To be honest, I’m not sure I know how I feel.”

“I cannot believe you’re the same Erik Lensherr who used to go into absolutely everything guns blazing. You had no doubt in yourself. This man must be special.”

“Well, time’s changed that. And he is special. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“Please, Erik. It’s not that hard. Just kiss him.”

“Right, I forgot that that was your way of measuring everything.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“I’m just saying that if you meet somebody who can actually make you feel anything other than indifference, you should try to keep him.”

“I don’t think he’s going away any time soon.”

“Whatever you say. This salmon is excellent.”

“It is. You picked a good place.”

“You always had a godawful taste in restaurants. I’m assuming that that hasn’t changed.”

“Maybe it hasn’t.”

“I think I like you better how you are now.”

“I definitely don’t hate you nearly as much.”

“Droll.”

“Yeah.”

“It was nice to see you again.”

“It was nice to see you again too.”

+

After his conversation with Emma, Erik has far too much to think about and far too little time to do so, as he ends up at Charles’ house quickly enough.

He knocks on the door and Charles opens it with an excited grin. “So, how did it go?”

“Surprisingly well,” Erik says slowly. “It was strange. I guess we’ve both grown up. Changed. Maybe time really does heal a lot of wounds.”

“I’m glad it worked out.”

“We had a pretty interesting conversation.”

“Yeah?”

They go over to the sitting room, but stay standing instead of taking their usual places in front of the chessboard.

“It was eye-opening. Neither of us are really good people, but time goes on.”

“I think you’re quite a good person, Erik.”

“You haven’t known me for long.”

“Long enough.”

“Right.”

They’re standing fairly close together, and Erik feels uncomfortably warm.

He leans in, finally kisses the lips he’s been fantasizing about for all this time.

Charles kisses back, but pulls away quickly, looking at Erik with wide, shocked eyes. “Where did that come from?”

“I…” Erik can’t help the disappointment he feels. “Do you want me not to?”

There’s something in Charles’ eyes that Erik has never seen before, something in the curve of his mouth. Something hungry. “No,” Charles whispers, and this time he’s the one to lean in.

+

After they sleep together (and it’s _good,_ albeit a little clumsy. Erik didn’t expect it to be), they stay tangled together for hours.

Somehow, Erik feels comfortable like this.

Finally, Charles breaks the prolonged silence.

“You’ve been in love before, right?” he asks quietly, tracing shapes into the bedsheets. Only his face is slightly tilted in Erik’s direction.

Erik’s entire body is facing Charles. Usually, Erik is the distant one, but right now Charles feels far away.

And close, too, but it’s complicated. Relationships are complicated, Erik supposes. He wishes they weren’t. He’s fucked up too many relationships in his life to wish anything else. He wonders if this conversation is going to go in a good way for him, and can’t quite tell. He answers the question, though. It seems like something that he should do. “Yes.”

Charles nods, finally turning his body towards Erik, propping himself up. “I’ve never been. I…I guess I just never found the time.”

“Oh. You haven’t lost much, really, I don’t think.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Charles pauses. “No. No, Erik, I’m going to have to disagree with you on that. I think I’ve lost something quite important indeed. I think that maybe with my issues, I grew up too soon, and didn’t grow up at the same time. I don’t expect you to understand, and that’s quite alright, but I think that being in love is a wonderful thing, and I wish that…certain circumstances hadn’t prevented me from feeling that, before. Before now.”

Erik doesn’t know if what he’s feeling is apprehension or excitement, but he expects the next words.

“Erik, before I met you I didn’t even spare these issues a second thought. I just supposed my time to feel those feelings had come and gone. But now…” Charles sighs. “I may be in love with you.”

Erik nods grimly. He doesn’t feel so grim, really. Actually, he feels glad. With Charles, no matter what issues they may have had, he’s been feeling better lately. They fit together very well, and.

And now might be the time to admit it.

“I may be in love with you too.”

Charles smiles, and it’s soft in the moonlight.

His lips look very red.

Erik smiles back. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it right, because he’s never liked his smile. He’s always had too many teeth for it to seem anything but predatory. Still, it feels fine.

Charles grabs his hand, and they lace their fingers together.

They don’t say another word to each other.

They just go to sleep.

 _Maybe this can work this time,_ Erik thinks before he really gives in to oblivion.

+

It takes a while, months, even, and it’s subtle, but things start going wrong.

Erik and Charles’ relationship moves so fast, Erik can barely register what’s happening, but he realizes quickly enough that Charles is…stressed. Anxious.

They fight. Not really, not fights like the kind Erik and Emma would have. But they snipe at each other over chess, not the casual conversation they used to have.

“You’re suffocating me,” Charles says one day. Erik can’t remember what he said to set him off.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

Charles doesn’t talk after that, but when Erik goes home that night he thinks he shouldn’t have ignored those words he didn’t understand.

Maybe that was the problem.

“Do you think we’re burning out?” Charles says another day, and Erik freezes.

His insides clench, and he closes his eyes, tries to center himself. “Of course not,” he says weakly.

Charles doesn’t say anything after that, and Erik doesn’t pry.

It’s better to ignore.

(But, then, maybe the ignoring is a problem. Erik isn’t good at relationships. Neither is Charles. Erik knows they both want this to work out, more than anything. But he doesn’t know if it can.)

There’s something that’s deeply bothering him, but he’s too ashamed to really focus on what. Charles isn’t at fault for his condition.

Maybe being in the same place all the time is making him stir crazy.

Maybe they should have a break.

But Erik doesn’t want a break.

He just wants to start over, do things differently from the beginning of their relationship, that night they’d slept together for the first time. He wishes they’d gone slower.

Now each one of them seems to be going too fast for the other to catch up—to their thought processes, to what they feel, to what they _want._

It’s not unpleasant. It’s not. Erik may or may not be the happiest he’s ever been. He can’t tell. His emotions are going too quickly for even him to feel.

“We used to _talk_ about things, Erik,” Charles says after another silent chess game.

“But what is there to talk about?”

“Us.”

“You’re right.”

“Is this working?”

“It has to.”

Charles nods grimly. “It has to.”

+

Things come to a head one night when Erik walks into Charles’ house just after nine o’ clock, and stops cold when he hears Charles and Wanda talking.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he does anyway.

“Tell me a story,” Wanda wheedles as Pietro starts falling asleep, tiny head leaning against Charles’ shoulder.

Charles rolls his eyes at her. “Isn’t about time you got to sleep?”

“No, we can’t go back to our house all alone!”

“I figure I’ll put you up here, sweetheart. It seems like the best idea right now, seeing as I don’t think your father is going to be back any time soon.”

“But I want a story!”

“Fine, what kind of story?” Charles caves easily.

“A fairy tale!”

“Like…the kind that exist already, or the kind I can make up?”

“You make it up, yeah!”

“Fine, I’ll make something up. Just let me kick my _brilliant_ mind into great to figure something out.”

Wanda giggles and Charles smiles at her.

He thinks for a few minutes, Pietro soundly asleep, taking soft, whistling breaths, and Wanda snuggled up at his side. “Got it!” he finally says with a flourish, and Wanda claps her hands and squeals.

“Once upon a time, there was a Prince. He lived in a beautiful but isolated and lonely castle. He lived with his mother, the Queen, his step-father, the King, and his step-brother, another Prince. He also lived with his sister, Robin, but he couldn’t tell about that, because Robin wasn’t a Princess. She was a wonderful, beautiful former thief he had taken in, and she was better than most of the Princesses in the Kingdom, but he still couldn’t say. Robin was still the only light in his life, though, as his step-father was wicked and cruel, and the young Prince had to hide from him constantly.

“His step-brother was equally cruel, and he was so much bigger than the Prince that the Prince found himself often overpowered and wounded by him. During all this time, the Queen was far, far too busy drowning her sorrows in…ah…ale and…mead, drinks that had a pleasant, numbing effect on her senses, to notice her son’s misery.

“The Prince eventually became interested in books, as he could read often and not be bothered by anybody except Robin, who he was fine with being bothered by. His mind was opened to a great world, full of magnificence and science. A world outside the doors of the castle. A world he feared to travel into, for the Prince had many nervous afflictions.

“However, he was still able to go out, and feel the sun and the rain and the breeze on his skin, and it was a blessing, though on occasion he would suddenly find himself losing his breath and terribly ill.

“As time went on, however, and the Prince reached his sixteenth year, the conflict in his castle escalated as his wicked step-father hurt him more and more, and his step-brother followed in his footsteps. The Prince found himself even more frightened, as he loathed being in pain.

“One day, though, something terrible happened, and not just an everyday kind of terrible, like K—the wicked step-father getting angry and injuring the Prince, but something truly awful. It was a fire! Worse, it was in the room the Prince had set aside for special… _magical_ experiments. As the fire raged, the Prince found himself almost trapped, and thought for sure that he would die, that this would be the end of him at a mere sixteen years of age!

“Surprisingly, though, and showing that people in general are on occasion more than simply one dimensional, the Prince was saved—by his wicked step-father, and as the Prince watched his step-father burning away as the fire…carriages made their way to his home, he wondered if the man had really been so wicked.

“The Queen was, naturally, devastated. Though she had not truly loved the Prince’s step-father, she had yearned for some sort of companionship, and he had been the second husband she had lost in less than ten years, which was quite a blow.

“The step-brother quickly enlisted in the army, in the cavalry, and he rode a beautiful white horse into battle and was never heard from again. In the end, it was just the Prince, Robin, and the Queen, who was wasting away from drink.

“Then, the Queen died. The Prince didn’t know how, exactly, he just knew that she was gone forever, and he was terribly sad for good reason. He wept, and as he did so he was confronted by a beautiful woman robed in dark, shimmering colors.

“She looked at him, and he knew she was terrible but was unable to look away. She smiled a cruel smile and smoothed back his hair, and he knew, as the woman vanished, that he had been cursed.

“But what he had been cursed with, or why, he did not know. It could very well have been anything. However, he found that over the next few months, his nervous affliction became worse and worse, until he realized what had happened: just like the Princesses of old, cursed to be trapped in their castles or towers forever, he had been locked away, never to face the world again.

“However, the curse was clever. The Prince was able to leave anytime. Robin tried her absolute best to make him travel outside, but he simply couldn’t, because though he was not locked unwillingly in his castle, he was locked somewhere else: his mind.

“So he stayed there, trapped in his castle, and he never left.”

Charles finishes the story and Wanda stares at him wide-eyed. “Really, that’s how it ends? So he never gets un-cursed?”

Charles looks a tiny bit sad. “I…suppose not.”

“Oh. I thought fairy tales had happy endings.”

“Not nearly as often as you think, dear. Now, come on, I can tell you’re going to fall asleep any second now. Let’s get you and your brother upstairs to the guest rooms. Come on, get up, help me out here.”

“It’s alright,” Erik says, stepping into the room from where he’s been lurking in the shadows like the creep he is, listening to the story.

He never tells his kids stories. He wonders if that makes him a bad father.

Charles starts.

Erik should really stop sneaking up on people.

He picks up Wanda and then Pietro, balancing one on each hip. They’re tiny little things, really, so it’s not very hard.

Wanda rather abruptly falls asleep.

Erik and Charles smile at each other, briefly. In the dim glow of the lamps, Charles’ face looks rounder and his eyes look wider. He looks young.

He is young, of course.

They’re both young.

Erik is afraid something is going wrong here. Lately being with Charles doesn’t feel as good as it used to. Charles is drawn, the bags under his eyes are more pronounced, he’s jumpier, the finger tapping never lets up. It’s almost like he’s getting worse.

The idea turns Erik’s stomach to ice water. He can’t let that happen.

He has to do right by Charles.

But he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

The final words of Charles’ story haunt him.

_So he stayed there, trapped in his castle, and he never left._

“Have you really given up?” he asks flatly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you really decided that your entire life is going to be spent here? In your…castle?”

“I’m fine this way, Erik. Every time I’ve tried to fix myself I’ve only gotten worse. I’m happier than I’ve been in ages now.”

“But you’re not as happy as you could be.”

“Don’t judge me, Erik, you don’t understand.”

“I’m not judging you. I want you to be happy. Don’t you want to get better?” All of Erik’s frustrations are spilling out, the ones that he never even knew he had, the ones that made him too guilty to think about much.

“Of course I…of course I do. But it’s really for the best this way.”

“Haven’t you ever considered professional help? Medication?”

“Of course I have. But I know it won’t work, and I want to spare myself the pain. Spare _Raven_ the pain.”

“So that’s it. You decide you can’t do it and that’s all? You’re going to die here?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t _what?”_

“I knew this would happen.”

“Knew _what_ would happen?”

“I knew you’d expect things from me I couldn’t do. Erik, I don’t think this is working out.”

Erik opens his mouth. Closes it. Finally speaks. “ _Fuck_ that, Charles. We have a good thing going. We love each other.”

“I know. But I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want you to believe I can overcome this, because I can’t. I’ve been static for so much time, I barely remember life out there. You don’t understand the pure terror I feel when I have to leave the house. You don’t understand that if I seek help, I’ll just end up failing. And you’ll end up resenting me because I can’t be what you want.”

“That’s bullshit, Charles. I’m not the enemy here. I might not understand what you’re going through, but I want to help. That only works if you want to help yourself, and clearly, you don’t. Have you really just…lost all faith in yourself? Don’t you miss going outside?”

“I don’t miss the panic attacks, or the anxiety that makes it impossible to carry a conversation, or not being _safe,_ or—”

“No. I mean, don’t you miss the world outside your home? Everything you’re missing stuck in here? The opportunities that are out there? You’re brilliant, Charles. You could be a Professor anywhere you want. I know that’s your dream. You told me that’s all you wanted to be when you were a child. A teacher.”

“I am a teacher.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. Don’t you ever want to see Raven act live? Because I’ve gone to one of her plays, and she’s fantastic. You see it on tape, it’s not the same. Pietro wants you to come to his races. Wanda wishes you’d go to her dance recitals. I wish we could go out on the town. Don’t you want to get your groceries by yourself? I’m not trying to expect the impossible from you, Charles. I know it takes time, but I’d be willing to help you through this. I’d be willing to support you. And I know a lot of people would be willing to do the same.”

Charles looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Erik feels like he might actually be tearing up himself, which hasn’t happened in a long time. It doesn’t surprise him, though. This feels like one of the most important conversations he’ll ever have.

“Erik, the outside world is not a place where you can expect me to survive.”

“I know it won’t be easy. But things worth doing aren’t easy. I love you. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“All you want is for me to be cured. That will never happen.” Charles raises his voice a little, saying each word harshly but softly so as not to wake the sleeping children.

“I’m not the idiot you seem to think I am, Charles. I know it won’t happen. But that doesn’t mean you can’t get _better_ than you are now. It doesn’t mean you have to be here for the rest of your life.”

“I’m not safe out there. I’ll just end up worse off than I was before.”

“But you have to try! It’s been _years._ You have to grow up.” Erik’s words are harsher than he intended, but he can’t back down anymore.

“Oh, so what now? I’m some kind of helpless child who needs you to guide me? You always conveniently forget important things until you can bring them up to get one over on me.”

“You’re so completely wrong, Charles, I think you’re well aware of that. You’re doing yourself no favors by staying here.”

“No. You’re doing yourself no favors by staying here. I’m tired, Erik. Go home.”

“You’re a coward,” Erik finally says, hisses out the words before he can take them back, and walks away.

“You’re right,” Charles whispers behind him, sadly.

Erik doesn’t look back.

+

Erik takes the children home, tucks them in, goes to his room and cries, angry tears, muffling them into a pillow so that the children don’t hear it.

The feeling of failure seeps into his bones and weighs him down.

He knows he can’t give up, not after one shitty attempt at getting Charles to consider getting help.

But he hates that he failed.

Because this time, he really _tried._

And last time he really tried and still ended up failing…

Well.

There was a lot of blood to clean up.

+

It takes a week before he can go back to Charles’ house, before he can stand to try to reconcile.

He’s angry, maybe.

At himself. At Charles.

He knows he has to go back, though. Do the right thing.

He wants Charles. He needs Charles, maybe. They could be good for each other. They were good for each other.

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to feel like this again.

“You have to fight for what you want,” his mother had said.

As usual, his mother was right.

+

“I thought you’d get here sometime. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t. Gone on with my life, I guess.” Charles is sitting on the cushy leather couch in the living room when Erik walks in.

He doesn’t look Erik in the eye, instead stares at the overstuffed armchair across from his place. It’s where Erik usually sits, and so that’s what Erik does. He doesn’t feel as comfortable as usual.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he says, finally, after a few minutes that drag on and on.

“I’m sorry too. I got frightened by the idea of being in a real relationship with another human being. A romantic relationship. I figured it would crash and burn when you realized I wasn’t what you wanted. When you got tired of dealing with my issues.”

Erik laughs bitterly, because this is ridiculous. “You know what? I think I was afraid of the exact same thing.”

Charles doesn’t laugh, but he smiles that smile of his, the one that’s all sad edges and makes Erik want to and look away but be unable to at the same time. “Maybe we underestimated each other. Maybe we got so wrapped up in what we expected of ourselves that we projected it onto the other and ended up sabotaging the relationship we were building.” He pauses. “Or something?”

“That’s deep, Charles,” Erik says wryly.

“Shut up, I minored in Psychology.”

They’re quiet for a long time, no chess game as a buffer while they gather their thoughts. They study each other while the silence drags on, pretending that that’s not what they’re doing.

“It happened so fast,” Erik says, and then stops before starting up his thought again. “I…look, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve been in love before, and I have an awful track record. Emma and I, we stayed together for years, but we were so unhappy. I was attracted to her minutes after meeting her, and we helped each other deal with the shit Shaw put us through, but it went sour months after we got together. I didn’t want it to be like that with you. And then…then there was Magda, and I was in love with Magda too, I really was, but we fell out of love and she…she wasn’t well. She killed herself, Charles. I really didn’t want that to happen to you.”

“Which part? Falling out of love, or me killing myself?”

“Both, I guess.” Charles doesn’t say a word to that. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair to you to just assume that’s how it’s going to end with you too just because you’re, you know. But I think about Magda, and I think about the kids, and I think about your bad days, and I just…I get scared.”

“It’s natural. I’ve never been with anybody before, not how I’ve been with you, and to tell the truth, it went too fast for me too, and I got overwhelmed, and I thought that you deserved better than me, that you would end up expecting things from me that I just couldn’t do.”

“I think we deserve each other, Charles.”

“Is that an insult?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’m bad at dealing with new things, Erik. New emotions. You know I’ve never been in love before, not once. And when I realized you had, I thought I had to measure up. That I had to far surpass your previous lovers to keep you. People are always leaving, Erik. It’s one of those things that you learn, living a stationary life like mine. And I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t want Wanda and Pietro to go. I think we had something special.”

“I think we have something special.”

“Present tense, huh? Pretty adventurous.”

“I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Now you’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. Every time I fall in love, it’s a rather ugly thing. The way I fell in love with you…it was comfortable. It was quick. I suppose I didn’t fight it. It might have been a mistake to ignore all our issues, but I really think we should try again. Slower, this time.”

“Slower,” Charles says. “I like that.” He pauses. “Don’t leave yet.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“I have…more to say.”

“Alright.”

Charles is quiet for a long time. Erik finally cracks a smile. “So? Are you ever going to get on with it?”

“Didn’t we just talk about rushing each other?”

“Right, right.”

“I’ve just been thinking these things ever since I met you, but it’s hard to put them into words, especially after everything that’s happened. Lately. Did we break up?”

“I think we fought, Charles. We might have broken up. Didn’t take us long to get back together, though. I think that might be a good sign.”

“I didn’t want to break up.”

“Neither did I.”

“That’s _definitely_ a good sign.” Charles pauses. “But you did say some things that hurt me—“

“I didn’t—”

“I know, I know, let me talk. I’m not angry. I can move on. The real thing I want to talk about is that you really weren’t all that hurtful. The reason what you said hit me so hard is that…it was all true. I am a coward.”

Erik doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t deny it—he was the one who said it after all—and he can’t confirm it, either.

“I’m so frightened of disappointing the people I love, disappointing _myself,_ that I’ve just stayed this way. I’m not saying I can’t lead a fulfilling life from inside my house, but…I can lead a more fulfilling one if I step out once in a while. I miss the feeling of rain falling on my skin, I miss snow. I miss walking out into my garden. I even miss the things I’ve never seen, like Raven’s performances. You’re right, watching them on video isn’t the same.

“It’s like I’ve been stuck in stasis for years. I haven’t managed to grow up, and you know, maybe it is time to do that. It was a bad idea not to get help at the first chance. It was a bad idea to put it off this long. It was a bad idea to…ignore. I know I’m not as happy as I should be. As I…maybe could be.

“I want to be independent again. I want to be a Professor. I’d like it if the anxiety, the panic attacks, everything that keeps me from leaving my home could just go away forever, but it can’t, so I thought I was just better off not breaking my own heart by trying to fix the unfixable. I maybe haven’t had that many people care about me in my life. I thought you wanting me to get help was more for you than me, was…a way of criticizing, of being an asshole, when really I needed someone to stop ignoring my condition.

“I really do love you, Erik. And I love Wanda and Pietro. And it would be amazing to be able to go to their dance recitals, or their races. I’m not good with feelings, but to tell you the truth, I’d been thinking all the things you said that night before you said them. I’ve been thinking of getting help for years and years, but I’ve never been able to go through with it. And I think maybe I’ve missed out. I believe I’ve been this way for long enough. I’m ready for a change.”

Erik doesn’t know what to say. _I didn’t fail_ seems self-centered. “That’s amazing,” he says instead. “Fuck, that’s amazing.”

“So, have we agreed that we’re going to do better from now on? Talk about things more. Go slower. I know we can do this.”

“Yeah.” Erik stands and walks over to where Charles is sitting, planting a kiss on his lips.

Charles smiles into it.

**_One Year, Three Months, and a Week Later_ **

Erik is standing on the porch of his house watching the sunset when Charles joins him.

Erik smiles, intoxicated by the novelty of the moment, and the sudden jolt of happiness he feels is less alien than it used to be.

It’s still a bit alien, of course. Being well-adjusted isn’t something that comes naturally, after all.

He thinks he’s lucky to have met Charles.

Charles smiles at him, open and, for just a moment, fearless.

“Do you feel alright?” Erik asks, offhand, because it’s the kind of question he can never stop asking, because Charles isn’t _cured_ , that’s not how it works, and Erik’s not stupid enough to think it is.

Charles laughs. “The sunset’s lovely today.” He says that about every day, though, so Erik just rolls his eyes, knowing that Charles will get around to answering the question eventually. “And I’m fine.” He spares Erik an affectionate glance. “Everything’s fine.”

And it is.


End file.
